The withered flowers,
can only arise from their ashes,
when I can give them back,
to the dark earth.
So, I burry them,
deep within the soil,
for them to rediscover,
the art of true living.
Born from the ashes,
the red rose blooms in the summer,
and from the thorns,
I bleed the same color red.
Renewal
The devaluation of life,
breaks even the strongest heart,
but when the honeycomb breaks –
crushed in the palm of my hand,
the soul lives a lifetime longer,
and the heart learns to live,
in the renewal of the mind.
Crushed stones become a pathway,
carrying the feet of an entire nation,
where not even the dirt my feet,
can stop me from laughing,
the tears down my cheeks,
until my soul is dancing in the desert.
From the Ashes
Sometimes it is a miracle,
that the cracked house still stands.
Exfoliated paint has dimmed,
the always lively outer walls.
Crumbled wall joints have given,
the luxury estate a poor appearance.
The door hangs in the frame,
showing the many break ins,
this house has had to endure,
and when entering,
the emptiness proves the robberies,
of this dilapidated mansion.
Antique pink walls hint the past,
of parties with women in fancy dresses,
drinking champagne and cocktails,
whose spirits now haunt,
this desolated, empty place.
Where have they gone, I wonder?
A painting falls down the wall,
one from the baroque period,
that surprisingly still shows,
every detail of the painters work.
I am lost in this castle,
with its empty spaces and walls,
and the many cobwebs,
covering the ceiling –
even the spiders have left.
There is nothing left for me,
and a little bird on the window sill,
tells me it is time to leave.
Against all the voice,
telling me to say goodbye,
there is one asking me to stay,
for even a house in this broken state,
has a chance of coming back to life.
Love is a force,
with unbreakable strength,
that can make a flower bloom,
in the middle of the winter.
When you collect this force,
that is deep within your heart,
miracles will begin to happen,
and even an old dilapidated house,
can arise from its ashes!
In my disbelief
When the land is in sight,
after an endless journey,
my heart fills with joy,
until I remember,
that the last steps,
are usually the hardest.
With the sweat on my brow,
I cry silent tears,
in my hopeless heart.
Is it a fata morgana?
An illusion in my mind?
In the extreme exhaustion,
my heart becomes confused,
wondering whether I had it right.
Was this the land,
the land that God asked me to go to?
Or was I mistaken,
wrong about everything I thought,
God spoke to me in dreams?
I pray,
first silently,
then louder and louder,
until my heart screams,
“Why have you forsaken me”?
The inches I walk become slower,
until I stand still in awe of myself,
my misunderstanding,
my hopes and dreams in something,
that might never be.
So, now I am at a crossroad.
Wondering whether to continue,
this extreme endurance,
or whether to go back,
to the life I knew before.
I do not know…
So, I wait for the silent whisper,
gently encouraging me,
to put my one foot,
in front of the other,
in blind courage,
in blind faith,
of an invisible God,
a promise I cannot see,
a situation that seems,
impossible.
Faith is like a mustard seed,
that fell into the ground,
and died.
As my heart is slowly dying,
I know a tree will spring up,
in the depth of my heart,
with strong roots,
able to conquer any storm.
Looking around this endless desert,
I still see the small houses,
shimmering at the horizon,
and no matter how impossible it may seem,
I know,
all I have to do is believe,
that those houses,
no matter how unreal they seem,
are put there for me.
Victory comes to those,
who choose to go on,
when everything inside,
tells them to give up!
So, I choose victory,
in whatever form it comes,
so that one day I can tell,
a world of disbelief,
that the Spirit kept me going,
when I could not belief.
To God be the glory,
for He was with me!
Perception
Eyes only see,
the things they want to see.
Dead and desolate places,
alternate with magical kingdoms,
where angels and butterflies,
fly through colorful mists.
Perception is the essence,
for our identity to be,
the purest form of the self.
For hiding behind a mask,
will give only a temporary relief,
of not being seen.
Visibility is the key,
to the door of fulfillment,
but only when you block,
the murmur of judgmental voices,
and stay true,
to the truest form of yourself.
Eyes only see,
the things they want to see.
And in the sight of selflove,
and childlike positivity,
can we lift ourselves to infinite heights,
where we are more,
than we could ever think of,
and take our life,
further than it could ever be.
When the heart burns
Every step I take,
my empty heart burns,
like a forest on fire.
Trying to rescue life,
in all its forms,
I make a decision,
to fight.
The sun on the horizon,
promises me hope,
but how can I believe,
in a new land,
when the old one,
is still burning?
Letting go of sorrow,
feels like the end,
of my very last breath,
overwhelming me with fear,
until I decide,
to breathe again.
Every step I take,
my empty heart burns,
so lay it on the ground,
to find life without it,
but how can I live,
without my heart?
Every season,
teaches us lessons,
but this season appears,
the hardest of them all,
so I have to believe,
that the lesson of this season,
will be the biggest one,
I have ever learned.
Photograph made by: Gineke van Keulen!
In a black and white world
The sky is grey and gloomy,
the earth is covered in black and white,
and nature has never been this mystical.
Arches form doors to different realms,
as mountains enclose the waters.
I follow the river to the end of the horizon,
in order to find the end of my dream.
Heavy burdens way me down,
but my wings are still strong enough,
to keep me floating above the clear water.
Angels guide me along my journey,
and the Spirit leads me along the way.
All I must do is follow His guidance,
with a trust greater than the doubts in my heart.
Now I know that life is not about the dream,
but about learning to keep yourself floating,
in world that is too often black and white.
Gineke van Keulen 